The Wolfsbane Solution
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: *AU* Hermione is certain unwilling werewolf Remus Lupin hates her . . . . Until the effects of a new magic meant to keep his shifts at bay—making his dependence on wolfsbane potion a thing of the past—brings his true feelings to the surface. Remus already knows Sirius' girlfriend appeals to him, but he has no idea she appeals to his wolf even more. *triad fic* SPORADIC UPDATES
1. Chapter 1

**AUTHOR'S NOTES** **:**

 **1)** This is a canon-based, but _not_ canon-divergent AU. For those of you looking at your screen, thinking, "What the bloody hell does that mean, Freya?" It simply means it's an AU that takes place in the same basic universe as the _Harry Potter_ series, but without the same background events as the HP series. For instance, maybe the First Wizarding War took place, but Severus managed to get there in time to stop Voldie, that sort of thing. Maybe the Weasleys moved to Romania as a clan to support Charlie's whole dragon-taming thing. Those are examples, only. This story is going to largely be a 'by the seat of my pants' sort of thing, so what does or doesn't carry over from canon events, you and I will learn _together_!

 **2)** Chapter lengths will vary. Sometimes, they may be over 4k, sometimes they'll be under 2k.

 **3)** The premise of this fic is inspired by an event in the Gordon storyline of the app game _Blood in Roses+_.

 **4)** There may be some "Muddy Wolfstar" in the course of this fic. Yes, that's my way of saying Remus/Hermione/Sirius.

* * *

Separately, but with good timing: Happy Birthday to fncmullin! 😊

* * *

 **Fancast** **:** Tom Hiddleston as _Remus Lupin_ ; Jared Leto as _Sirius Black_ ; [in case he makes an appearance] Jason Momoa as _Fenrir Greyback_.

*Please note if my fancasts are not your cup of tea, you're totally free to imagine whomever you prefer in the roles, and no you don't need to tell me who they are 😉.

* * *

 **DISCLAIMER** **:** I do not own _Harry Potter_ , or any affiliated characters and make no profit, in any form, from this work.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

Hermione shrugged, shaking her head. "I'm not going."

Groaning, Harry sat down heavily beside her. "You have to go! It's Christmas!"

After a deep, shuddering sigh, she once more shook her head. Giving the bow on the present she'd been tying one, last, fluffing tug, she handed him the brightly wrapped parcel. "Yes, it is Christmas, but no, I don't have to go. It is Christmas at Remus' house, and that man hates the very sight of me."

"Oh, he invited you, so I doubt it's as bad as all that."

Her brows pinched together for a moment before shooting upward. "He invited me because he knows you hardly go anywhere without me, that's _one_. Two, have you honestly not noticed that he constantly finds an excuse to not be in the same room as me?"

"I'm sure you're just imagining that, Hermione. You're very self-conscious about how other people behave around you, you know."

"So now you're saying I'm paranoid?"

Harry blinked hard to cover an eye roll. If he didn't love this witch like a sister . . . . "No, no. What I'm saying is you might just be misreading simple coincidences, or even just bad timing, because of how sensitive you are to the way others perceive you, being the only Muggle-born in a social circle of wizarding blood, is all."

Her face fell as she stared at him.

His eyebrows crept up over the wire rims of his glasses. "What?"

"You have been spending entirely too much time around me if you can rattle off reasoning like that from the top of your head."

He snickered, leaning close to drop a kiss against her forehead. "C'mon. Please? He's been really lonely since . . . since what happened to him. He needs his family."

Her shoulders drooped. Of all the things _she_ thought when she was in the presence of Remus Lupin—well, with _that_ in mind, she supposed it just as well he didn't like being around her. "I assure you, Harry, that man doesn't think of _me_ as family, nor does he want to."

With a sigh, Harry nodded. Perhaps he could pull Remus aside later and discuss this with him, surely it was a misunderstanding. He just had to make sure Hermione didn't find out about said discussion, or he'd never hear the end of it.

"I will tell you what, if after tonight, you still feel this way, I will never drag you to a social function he's attending, again. Fair enough?"

"Fine, fine, I'll go." Despite her disgruntled pout, she pulled on her Santa hat.

Again, Harry snickered. "You look adorable, it'd be a shame for everyone to miss that."

Glowering, the witch pointed toward the fireplace. "Oh, shut it and get to the Floo, already."

* * *

Remus really didn't think it would be so terrible to have Hermione over for the Holiday party. She made Harry happy, and she made Lily and James happy. She made Sirius' flirtatious heart absolutely giddy.

Scowling, he ran self-conscious fingers across the fresh scar just barely hidden by his scruffy facial hair. He had supposed that if she brought a little light to everyone else's day, the least he could do was suffer through her presence for a few hours.

Then, she stepped from the wash of green flames in the fireplace behind Harry.

Her wild golden-brown hair was collected in sloppy braided pigtails down her shoulders and she wore a shade of lipstick that matched the playfully side-tipped Santa Claus hat atop her head. The bright crimson offset her simple black velvet dress a little too nicely, and drew far too much attention to those wide chestnut eyes of hers for his liking.

She smiled around at everyone in the room, somehow managing to catch him off-guard when she met his gaze, despite that he'd been staring at her the entire time.

Swallowing hard as his expression shut down, offering her no way to understand what he might be thinking, he tore his attention from her. Remus turned on his heel and stepped from the room.

He missed the way her smile faltered, forcing a gulp of her own down her throat as she watched him go.

* * *

At first, Harry couldn't say he noticed anything odd, but then, it seemed whenever he wasn't distracted by his parents, or his own girlfriend, Hermione and Remus were nowhere near each other by sheer happenstance. Their constantly exhausted and mildly bedraggled host would be greeting new guests, or seeing to something with his house elves, while the witch's focus seemed split between avoiding her ex Viktor's playful—though only _half_ -joking, if Harry's observation meant anything—attempts to catch her under the mistletoe, and keeping up in some bizarre wizarding history trivia Sirius had devised, the sole purpose of which might well be the kisses on the cheek he received as reward when anyone got an answer wrong.

Harry tried not to think too much on the fact that his mother and father were also playing, but then he always did have questions about _exactly_ how close Lily and James Potter were with his godfather.

But then, it happened. Hermione had—giggling and blushing—backed out of the game when Sirius had turned his head quick at the right moment, catching her kiss on his lips, instead of his cheek. Clearly flustered from the handsome wizard's affectionate gesture, she'd wandered down a corridor of the house, fanning her face and sipping her punch.

He tipped his head around the bend in the wall of the parlor to see what she'd gotten up to. She was looking at the framed photographs that lined the walls from the Marauders' Hogwarts days.

Remus had entered the corridor from the other end and taken a few steps, the sound of his footfalls swallowed up by the thick carpeting. When he looked up and saw her there, but before she could notice him, he retreated straight back out the door through which he'd just come.

His shoulders slumping, Harry turned, touching his hand to Pansy's elbow. "Listen, I have to go talk to Remus about something. Will you get me a glass of punch while I'm gone?"

Pansy Parkinson's perfectly arched dark brows shot up as she said, "You do know Christmas punch is lousy with rum, yeah?"

He bit his lip on a grin, nodding. "That why this is your third cup, already?"

The jet-haired witch beamed. "You know me so well."

"Mm-hmm." He kissed the tip of her nose before turning on his heel and heading down the corridor where he saw Remus _inexplicably_ vanish.

He sidled along behind Hermione, but couldn't help glancing over her shoulder to see which photograph she was looking at, now. Her gaze was fixed on a shot of Sirius, Lily, and James laughing at some shared secret, it seemed.

When Harry tipped his head just a bit more over her shoulder to glimpse her expression, he found her pouting thoughtfully. "What?"

She covered her nose and mouth with her free hand, shielding what might just be a mildly-tipsy giggle. "Just . . . you ever wonder if there's _something_ going on with your parents and Sirius?"

His brows shot up. True, he'd had the same thought, but when it was just him, he could play it off as though it were his imagination. "You're drunk."

"Oh, I'm barely buzzed, and where are you going?"

"Just heading to find more rum for the punch."

"Well, then," she said, winking at him and as she lifted her cup, "don't come back empty-handed!"

Harry nodded and continued on his way. "No wonder you and Pansy get along," he said under his breath, seeing as the two barely ever seemed to find anything to talk about when they were sober.

He knew he hadn't actually needed to come up with an excuse, he could simply tell Hermione he was going to speak to Remus about this hating her business. However, he didn't trust the witch not to tag along, or attempt to listen if she knew that's where he was going.

And, if it turned out she was right, he didn't want her getting hurt by having to hear her suspicions confirmed.

Bursting through the door at the opposite end of the corridor, he found Remus seated at the kitchen table. The reluctant werewolf was nursing a mug of something Harry _strongly_ doubted was tea.

"Dear God, am I the only sober person in this house?" the younger wizard asked as he sat down in the chair opposite Remus.

Remus frowned into his mug, his sandy brows shooting up. "Quite possibly. And I'm _barely_ not-sober."

Sighing, Harry shook his head. He folded his hands on the table before he spoke. "Remus we need to talk."

"That doesn't sound good," Remus said with a chuckle. He took a sip and then paused, eyeing Harry over the rim of the mug. "Okay, seriously? Have I done something wrong?"

Harry hated the tone running beneath the other man's words. Every time anyone looked at Remus with even a whisper of what could be imagined as a suspicious glint, he panicked that there was yet another unthinkable thing he'd done during the last full moon that he couldn't remember.

"No, no. It's about Hermione."

Remus hid a sudden frown behind another sip.

At his silence, Harry let out another sigh. "She almost refused to come to the party tonight."

His brows drawing together as he set down his mug, Remus asked, "Why?"

"She thinks . . . ." Harry nodded slow, finally shrugging. "Well, she thinks you hate her—" He was so involved in trying to say what he needed to, he missed the way Remus rolled his eyes, quick, but so hard his lids fluttered."—and after seeing the way you practically ran back in here when you saw her merely standing outside this room, I'm starting to think she might be right."

"I don't _hate_ her." Remus shook his head. There was no way to explain this for Harry to really understand. Yes, the younger wizard was a grown man, now, but there were just some things Remus was positive he still didn't quite grasp, things only made worse by his malady. He also wasn't entirely certain he could bring himself to speak his reasons. "I just . . . can't stand being in the same room as her."

Closing his eyes, Harry nodded. Dammit it to hell, Hermione'd been right, after all. "That sure sounds like hate."

Frowning, Remus reclaimed his mug, speaking into his before downing the rest, "Well it's not, and I'd thank you to leave me alone about it, if it's all the same to you."

Harry winced, not at all familiar with hearing that edge of anger in the older wizard's tone. This really was a sore spot, wasn't it?

Nodding, he got up, rounding the table to clap Remus on the shoulder. "I'll never bring it up again."

Remus fixed his gaze on the far wall, willing himself not to respond as Harry left the room.

* * *

"Oh," Pansy said with a giggle. "Oh, you poor, dear thing!"

Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. When he'd returned from the kitchen wearing a dismal expression, she'd asked what troubled him. Of course he'd told her—in a secretive whisper after pulling her to a secluded corner of the parlor.

"What?" he demanded in a hushed voice, disliking her mirth at his expense.

The witch couldn't help but laugh, again, at the bewildered look in his eyes. She had to constantly remind herself how much more experience she had in relationships—and the fragile emotions of wizards, in particular.

"He doesn't hate her."

He sighed, shaking his head. "You didn't see the look on his face. You didn't hear his voice. I've never heard him sound like that, Pans."

"I get that, but just trust me, okay?"

Sipping his punch—which _was_ , in fact, lousy with rum—he arched a brow at her. "Okay, what is it you know that I don't?"

She shrugged, turning her attention to Hermione, who'd somehow allowed herself to be wrangled by Sirius into sitting, perched on his knee as though he were a young, very fit Santa Claus. Well, not that she could really blame the other witch for letting herself be _wrangled_ , per se, after all, Sirius Black was _very_ fit.

"Look, Remus feels _something_ very strongly toward her, that's for sure, but it's not hate. And I can prove it."

"Oh?"

Pansy granted him a sagely—if inebriated—grin. "Just get them under the mistletoe."

Harry's eyes shot wide. "Oh, you _are_ mad."

She smirked. "It's part of my charm. And that doesn't sound like trusting me."

At this point . . . he felt rather certain he had an idea what she was getting at. He just didn't think it could be the reality of the situation. "I really don't think that's a good—"

"It's a _wizard_ Christmas party, Harry. Everyone is drinking, or snogging, or both . . . . But we're also _British_ , and the desire to not make a scene can't be underestimated." She started scanning the room, looking for the sprig in question. "We'll have it where everyone will be able to see them, so if he wants to get away from her without causing a scene, he'll have to deal with what he's feeling then and there."

He hung his head, letting out a weary sigh. "Oh, good. Now our plan is backing a werewolf into a proverbial corner. Best. Christmas. Ever." Despite his grumblings, he knew Pansy's idea was probably the only way, and he knew that he couldn't let Hermione go on thinking Remus hated her unless it was _actually_ true.

"Fine, fine. What do we do?"

A wicked smile curved Pansy's lips as she winked at him. "Leave it to me."

Harry thought it was probably the worse idea in the history of time as he watched his girlfriend wander over to Sirius just after Hermione had departed his company. The dark-haired witch cupped her hand, whispering something in his ear.

Something that made Sirius chuckle and balk, at the same. Harry could just hear through the din of the party his godfather's voice as he said, "Oh, that's just evil. We have to do it."

Cringing, Harry pressed his hands to his face. He could not help feeling as though he probably should've kept his big, fat mouth shut.

* * *

"Pans, you're completely mad," Hermione said, laughing so hard she had to stop moving and gasp for breath. The other witch had gone on and on in a ridiculous, drunken ramble about swearing she'd glimpsed a bloody sugarplum fairy, of all things.

Everyone knew sugarplum fairies were fast asleep by this time of night.

But the inebriated young woman would not be deterred. After only a moment of halting, she was tugging Hermione around the house, again.

Before she knew it, they were back in the parlor, before the tree—the centerpiece of the entire evening. She didn't even see Remus standing there until she crashed into him, Pansy _miraculously_ managing to avoid the collision.

There was, however, no mistaking how he bared his teeth as he clamped his hands around Hermione's shoulders and set her steady on her own feet.

Pansy, using the haze in her eyes to her advantage, appeared shocked as she looked up over their heads. "Uh-oh. Someone's playing with the mistletoe . . . ."

Seething, Remus looked about for who might be casting the levitation charm on the stupid plant.

Before he could spot the culprit, however, Pansy was tugging a furiously blushing Hermione's arm. Those chestnut eyes were gleaming from the flames in the nearby fireplace and there was no mistaking the way her lower lip trembled as she stared up at him.

 _No . . . ._ He couldn't help but scowl. There was no way the flare of color in her cheeks was because of him, it was only because she was being put on the spot like this.

He opened his mouth to speak, to find some excuse to get himself out of this, when Sirius' drunken bellow cut across the room. "Oh, just kiss her already!"

Hermione appeared just as startled as she looked toward the other wizard.

Remus glanced about. Sure enough, at Sirius' shout, _everyone_ had turned their attention on the pair caught beneath the hovering mistletoe.

Impatience pinching his features, he forced a small smile as he turned his gaze to Hermione's. "Sorry about this," he said as he slid his hand around the back of her neck, but when he pulled her close—ready to drop a quick, chaste kiss on her lips—she brought up her hands, pressing her palms against his chest.

"Remus, wait."

He told himself he was imagining it as there looked to be a damp glimmer in her eyes.

"Of all the things you could be about having to kiss me to follow a simple holiday tradition, why are you _sorry_?"

At the way he frowned, his shoulder slumping, she nodded. There seemed volumes of context in his non-answer that he'd not intended.

"Right," she said, swallowing hard and letting her arms fall back to her sides. "Well, let's get this over with, then."

God, he'd never be able to tell her, would he?

Angry at himself for failing, yet again, he pulled her close. But, when his mouth touched hers, the plan of a quick, chaste kiss was somehow forgotten.

Before he could stop himself, he'd parted her lips with the tip of his tongue to dart between them. There was no way she was truly _this_ eager about returning his kiss—what with how she nipped at his tongue and caressed it with her own—that he thought maybe, just like him, she was angry at being forced this way. _That_ he understood.

What he didn't quite understand was finding her body pressed to his, or how he was cupping the back of her head with splayed fingers. He didn't understand that tiny growl rumbling in the back of his throat, or the feel of her delicate hands, gripping into his shirt at the sides of his waist.

And he most certainly didn't understand the way a chorus of drunken cheers brought him crashing back to the moment. Nor the look of hurt in her eyes as he tore his mouth from hers and pushed her back from him, using only enough force that it was not obvious to their onlookers.

As he turned on his heel and stormed from the room, he couldn't help but wonder when the last time was that he'd been this confused, because he could not seem to remember.

Hermione swallowed hard, but turned a feigned grin on the rest of the party guests.

Harry pinned his girlfriend with a stunned look. "What the bloody hell was that?"

Shaking her head, Pansy looked just as stunned . . . as well as a touch breathless as she managed a murmured, "Wow."

Irritated that Sirius and Pansy's _brilliant_ little scheme had backfired—that had to just be _the_ angriest kiss he'd ever seen in his life—Harry made his way over to Hermione.

"You were right," he said, frowning as he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "I'm sorry, I'll take you home, if you want."

Hermione sighed, shaking her head. No one else seemed to notice what was wrong, probably chalking up the seeming passion of the kiss to all that rum, and she didn't see the point in making a fuss.

"No, it's okay. You should stay with Pansy, I can see myself home."

His brow furrowed and his shoulders drooped. "You're sure?"

"Yeah. Though, next time Pansy pulls me under the mistletoe, it better be to kiss _her_."

Harry's jaw dropped a little before he could respond. "I am so there for that."

"Me, too!" There went Sirius' drunken bellowing from across the room, again. They always forgot his prolonged times shifted into his Animagus form had sharpened his human hearing, as well.

Hermione snickered, shaking her head. "I'll be fine, really. G'night, Harry. Happy Christmas"

Nodding, he kissed her cheek and saw her to the Floo. "Happy Christmas, Hermione."

She missed Remus watching her from just outside the parlor entryway. His green eyes dimmed a bit, he shook his head. With the jumble of emotions he felt whenever she was near, he knew it was better she thought he hated her.

Better still, perhaps, if she hated him right back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Hermione frowned, looking over the calculations she had made. A near-week had passed since that disastrous Christmas party, and she still could not shake the memories of it. Or the unpleasant twisting the anger in Remus' face as he'd pushed her away set off in the pit of her stomach.

This was all only made worse by the specifics of the charm she'd been contracted by the Ministry to craft. Hush-hush until she was certain it would work.

Exhaling sharply through her nostrils, she shook her head. At least now she had clear evidence that he didn't want to be anywhere near her, and Harry would stop dragging her to social functions he was attending.

The writing before her was blurring together in her exhausted attempt to focus. It was _too_ quiet in her flat, causing her mind to keep drifting back to it.

Why couldn't she just . . . why couldn't she just hate him the way he hated her?

It was New Years Eve, and here she was sitting at home, deliberately missing a party at the Parkinson Estate, because there was a _chance_ he might be there. This. Was. Ridiculous. She needed noise and sound and people, but she also needed to be ruddy hell left alone to work.

Nodding to herself, she gathered up her scrolls, quill and ink, and her research materials. The unhappy witch bundled the items into her bag and made her way to her door.

She didn't start to relax, by even a hair's breadth, until she was settled in a back booth at the Leaky Cauldron. Her work spread out before her and a pitcher of pumpkin ale on the table, she let the noise and chaos of the atmosphere distract her from herself.

Sipping the admittedly strong brew, she got to work.

And that was precisely where Sirius found her an hour later. He hid a snicker as he observed the adorable way she chewed at her lower lip while she concentrated.

Oh, sweet little Hermione Granger. He thought Remus was a mad man for being so upset with him over helping orchestrate what the daft werewolf had since dubbed _The Mistletoe Fiasco._

"Is this seat taken?"

Hermione jumped at the familiar voice. She couldn't help but smile as she looked up, though. Sirius Black was most certainly a sight well worth smiling at.

"Of course, not!" Though, as she watched him slide into the booth, she gave a sideways nod. "Well, I mean, it would be if it weren't you, but you are you, so it's not . . . . Of course."

His brows had crept upward as she babbled on. She seemed to notice, as well, her chestnut eyes growing wider by increments as the words tumbled from her lips.

He laughed, checking the pitcher to find it empty. "Well, that explains _that_."

Setting down her quill, she raked her fingers through her wild hair. She'd not even realized she'd polished off the ale. "Oh, wow. Yes, I think I'm a _little_ drunk, and I'm sorry."

Shaking his head, he laughed, again. "A little, she says. Okay, I think you should pack this up and we'll go for a walk. You could use the fresh air."

Frowning, she checked the time. "But it's eleven forty-five now; we'll miss the toast."

Sirius got right back out of the booth and held a hand out to her. "It'll totally defeat the purpose, but we'll get bottle of champagne from the bar to go and wherever we are in fifteen minutes, we'll split a few sips, okay?"

With a heavy sigh, she looked over her notes. She'd made a surprising amount of progress, given her giddy level of inebriation. There didn't seem _any_ reason she couldn't take a break now.

After stowing her things away in her bag, she slipped her hand into his and let him pull her from the booth.

* * *

"Me and Lily and James?" He barked out a laugh at the question she'd only been able to ask because of all that alcohol. "No! What gave you lot that idea?"

Snickering, Hermione shrugged as he handed her the champagne bottle they might've started sipping as soon as they'd stepped out of the Leaky Cauldron. "You three are sort of . . . blushingly close."

"My dear young lady, I'll have you know I'm blushingly close with _most_ people I call my friends."

"Well, I suppose there's some comfort in that." Though, she wasn't certain if he meant he was generally free with physical signs of affection, or if he wanted to shag all his friends. However, since he didn't really have a reputation for bed-hopping, she'd have to go with the former. Then she lifted the bottle for a sip and was unpleasantly surprised.

"Sirius Black, would you look what you've done!" She demanded as they halted beneath a streetlamp.

His jet brows arched upward as he met her gaze. The faintest wisp of a grin curved his lips, but the hazy gleam in his blue-grey eyes was mirthful. "Oh, that tone would be frightening if you could walk a straight line right now! What _have_ I done?"

Frowning, though it took more effort to hold the displeased expression than would've been the case in anyone else's presence, she held up the champagne bottle by it's neck. The now- _empty_ champagne bottle.

"You finished it, and just before midnight, too!"

"Oh." Pursing his lips, he tapped his finger against his bearded chin. "I was . . . I was just trying to catch up to you, Little Love."

Hermione uttered a scoffing noise in the back of her throat, though it was always difficult for her to be cross with Sirius, as she always struggled with a fair amount of trying not to smile just being around him. Why couldn't she and Remus be this way?

Looking up into Sirius' beautiful eyes, always so full of the strangest blend of whimsy, flirtation, and wisdom—and now, of course, with a dash of intoxication thrown in—she wondered if, perhaps, it might be time to forget this ill-fated fascination with the werewolf. If she could let herself feel so fascinated with someone else . . . .

Of course, for all his seeming flirtatiousness, even inebriated she was cognizant that he probably still saw her as a child. His godson's best friend, the man before her was probably only being playful, the way he was with everyone else, when he showed that type of interest in her.

She let her arm drop to her side, turning around to look for someplace to dispose of it. "We were supposed to sip it at midnight, which is about to strike, by the way." Ducking a step away, she put the bottle into a bin and backpedaled to stand before him beneath the glow of the streetlamp, once more. "What are we going to do to ring in the New Year, now?"

Shoving his fists into his pockets, the wizard shrugged. Though he allowed his gaze to rove the night sky as he thought, when he returned his attention to her face, his expression was somewhat sheepish—how very un-Sirius of him.

She couldn't help cracking a curious half-smile. "What?"

His brows drew upward as he gave another shrug. "Some people _kiss_ when the clock strikes twelve."

The witch felt a single, sharp breath rattle out of her. Her mouth dropped open in a small, perfect _O_ of shock and her eyes widened a little. She was fairly certain the sudden bloom of warmth in her cheeks had little with the alcohol in her system.

So . . . perhaps he _didn't_ still see her as a child, after all?

"You . . . ." Her eyebrows pinched together and she wasn't sure how she was managing to get the words out. "You want to kiss me?"

Sirius let out a quiet, airy chuckle. _In the_ worst _way, Little Love._ "It's bad luck to not do something to ring in the New Year, Hermione. There's only two ways I know people traditionally do that, and we're out of alcohol. Well, untrue, I know three ways people might ring in the New Year, but that third one I'm rather sure we'd get in trouble for, given that we're out in public."

She choked out a scandalized gasp. Slapping his shoulder, she couldn't help but giggle. "Sirius Black, you are simply _terrible_."

He nodded, grinning broadly. "Oh, don't I know it?" He took both of Hermione's hands in each of his. "So, what do you say? It's nearly time."

Trying to quell a sudden giddy rippling in the pit of her stomach, she forced herself to exhale as she looked down at his fingers clasped around hers. Returning her gaze to his, she nodded. "Okay, have it your way."

"Oh!" Again, he chuckled. "You make it sound like some sort of sentence!"

A chiming rang through Diagon Alley, then, counting down the last ten seconds of the year. She didn't realize how much she was both dreading _and_ looking forward to the clock striking twelve until she and Sirius started counting down aloud. Their voices mingling as their gazes remained locked, she thought she must be imagining that blush in his cheeks could have anything to do with the thought of kissing her.

Forcing herself to write it off as a result of the bottle of champagne he'd finished off nearly singlehandedly, she focused on the countdown.

"Five, four, three, two . . . one."

She thought she might also be imagining the gulp he forced down his throat, and the heartbeat of hesitation on both their parts. Just as much as she must be imagining that he gave himself a shake before slipping his hand around the back of her neck and pulling her close.

His lips brushed over hers in a chaste wandering, but the sensation was warm, and faintly electric in the way that it seemed to send sweet little sparks coursing through her. She was vaguely aware of leaning into him ever so slightly as she pressed her mouth just a bit tighter to his and circled his wrist with her fingers.

Such a simple kiss . . . . So then why were they both short of breath when they pulled back enough to look at one another?

After a dazed moment, he said, "Happy New Year, Hermione."

She swallowed hard, nodding in his grasp. "Happy New Year, Sirius."

Forever, and not a single second, at all, passed as they stared at one another. The witch wasn't certain if it was the alcohol, or the immediate, inexplicable warmth in the air around them, or even the way she was so strangely aware that he was forcing himself not to drop his gaze to trace over her mouth, but somehow, she found herself leaning into him, once more.

He hadn't expected how warm and perfect her lips would feel against his. He hadn't expected the sensation of her breath against his skin would cause his heart to skip a beat, or sharp warmth to thunder in his pulse.

Even less so, had he expected her to be the one to close the distance between them for a second kiss.

His fingers tangled into a fist in her hair, holding her tight to him as he parted her lips with his tongue to dart between them. At how eagerly she kissed him back—standing on her toes to get closer to him, still, and gripping her hands into the fabric of his robes—he felt another spike of warmth course though him.

She made the most delicious little pleading sound in the back of her throat as she stroked his plunging tongue with her own. Her fingers pulled and plucked at the cloth beneath them, as though she couldn't quite get close enough to him, despite how they were pressed together.

At last, they broke apart for the second time, each gasping for breath.

Licking his lips, he untangled his fingers to slide his palm forward, along the edge of her jaw. He watched the movement of his thumb as he dragged the tip of it across her mouth in a delicate sweep.

Swallowing hard, he finally forced out the words amid rushing breaths, "That was surprising."

Nodding, she could only blink up at him as she tried to find her voice. "I'll—I'll say."

Sirius held her gaze for a few stammering heartbeats more before he said, "What do we do, now?"

She stared up at him, still, as though she hadn't understood a word he'd just spoken. But of course, she had. What had just happened echoed her own thoughts, hadn't it? Her wondering if she couldn't put her hopes into someone else, since her feelings for Remus would never be returned.

She wanted, desperately, to be fascinated with someone, and Sirius Black was _certainly_ worthy of fascination. And, she might be overstepping, but from the way he was gazing down at her, continuing to hold her tight against him, she dared to think he might be able to find himself fascinated with her, as well.

In this particular moment, staring up into his beautiful eyes as they caught their breath beneath the light of the streetlamp . . . . As she recalled the tickling scratch of his facial hair against her skin when they'd been snogging only heated seconds ago, and still they clung to one another . . . .

It was not so far-fetched at all. Whatever she might feel toward Sirius was not a counterpoint to Remus inadvertently spurning her. She didn't like Sirius _because_ Remus hated her. Watching him blink, watching the color in his face change as his cheeks flushed, she knew perfectly well what she felt toward Sirius was a separate entity.

She nodded to herself. _Okay . . . okay_. If she'd just lost herself in snogging Sirius as a byproduct of his friend's hatred of her, she would let this end here. But now she _knew_ that wasn't so. Accepting that Remus hated her simply gave her the freedom to see Sirius in a new light.

"What now?" she echoed his question, just as uncertain of that answer as he was. "I . . . I don't know. A . . . a date? Maybe?"

"Well, now, Little Love, if you're going to ask me on a date, you're going to have to be a _tad_ more sure of yourself than that."

"Oh." She'd walked right into that, hadn't she? "I don't know if it would be the best idea either of us have had. But, if you're willing to give it a try, than I suppose—"

Sirius captured her mouth with his own, pulling her into another breathless, steamy few minutes of trying to get closer to one another as he snogged her senseless.

As before, they clung to each other as they broke apart, catching their breath in huge, ragged gulps of air.

"So, Sirius," she said around rapid inhalations, "a date?"

Smirking even as he was dragging in breaths, he nodded. "Dinner Friday, and then . . . ."

Her brows shot up. "And then?"

He shrugged. "And then, I suppose we'll see where the night takes us. As for now, since we're both inebriated, I'm thinking I should walk you home, but nothing more tonight. I'll let us both keep our dignity a few more days."

She giggled, her breathing finally steadied. "Okay."

Finally relinquishing his hold on her, he stepped back. Slipping his hand into hers, he tugged her to walk along beside him.

As they neared the wall that would admit them into the Leaky Cauldron so he might escort her back to her flat in the Muggle side of London, they both looked up from their clasped hands and stopped short. There stood Remus, appearing to just be stepping through the secret entryway, but there was no true measure of how long he'd been there.

He gaped at them, the color drained from his face and his leaf-green eyes enormous.

Then, just as fast, his cheeks filled with an angry flush and his eyes narrowed. The werewolf gritted his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nostrils before he whirled on his heel. He was gone sooner than either of them could say anything.

Hermione shook her head, feeling her throat tighten painfully.

"I'm sorry. I really don't know what's gotten into him, lately."

"It's hardly your fault. He hates me, didn't you know? Obviously he'd be angry with the idea of me dating his best friend."

"Oh," Sirius said, uttering a sympathetic chuckle as he pulled her close. He dropped a kiss against her forehead. "I'll talk to him, get him to see reason."

"You think that's possible?"

He shrugged. "Of course. He hated me at first, too, you know. It'll be fine."

She forced a grin. She knew he was lying to settle her nerves—he and Remus had been friends since the moment they'd met—but if he thought he could get Remus to at least be a little less venomous toward her, she supposed that was a start.

Still she had to force away a bizarre little stab of guilt she felt as she wondered just how much Remus had seen.

* * *

Sirius tossed and turned later that night. Home, alone in his bed in the too-quiet house at 12 Grimmauld Place, he could not put the encounter out of his head.

He didn't feel remorseful for what had happened with Hermione. They were both adults, both currently free, so to speak. Remus couldn't stand her, so there was bound to be some ruffled feathers about his dating her, but _no_. This was something beyond that.

When he'd seen that look on his best friend's face, followed by that flash of anger . . . . He'd wanted to go after him. He'd been the gentleman and seen Hermione to her door, but his drive to soothe Remus' agitation had been at war with his desire to be around her. As much as he felt Remus was being ridiculous, he wanted to ease whatever turmoil his friend was feeling; he wanted to make sure they would get past whatever the problem was between the witch and the werewolf.

In a restless fit, he kicked off his blankets. The sensation of the cool night air against his bare skin was a welcome thing. For the quickest second, he wondered what she'd think when she learned he slept in the nude.

She'd probably emit that playfully scandalized giggle he so adored and blush as she said, _Why am I not surprised?_

Her interest in him might be new, but Sirius' interest in her had been something he'd harbored for some time, now. He wanted to protect whatever they could end up having, _and_ wanted to protect his friendship with Remus . . . . He wanted to do both of these things without having to sacrifice either of them.

Most of all, he wanted to _not_ be the person who caused Remus to make that terrible face.

"Christ, Black, go to sleep and stop worrying yourself sick. You'll figure this out," he muttered to himself.

Pulling his pillow around his head, Sirius closed his eyes tight and prayed for sleep.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

"Maybe something black?" Pansy suggested with a shrug. "You know, like playing at his name?"

Hermione dropped the blue dress she'd had her eye on down atop the chair by the vanity table and turned back toward Pansy's _expansive_ wardrobe—in fact, the Parkinson Heiress, herself, often forgot what dresses and dress robes she had in there. "I suppose. I mean, black _does_ compliment everything, doesn't it?"

"I still can't believe any of this," Harry said, scowling as he looked on from where he sat on the bed. Both witches turned to look at him, Pansy was frowning, but Hermione appeared worried, now.

Harry hated that his expression was causing her misgivings, but he just . . . . This was just . . . . It was bizarre, was what it was. His best friend and his godfather?

"Oh, stop your moaning!" Propping her hands on her hips, Pansy shook her head. "This is a good thing for Hermione. Don't you dare make her feel guilty for it!"

"Oh, I see." He sat forward a bit and folded his arms across his chest. "A good thing. Well, all right. Let's hear it then, Pans. What's so good about it?"

"Why don't you start by telling me what's so bad about it?" She blindly shot up her hand, preemptively covering Hermione's mouth to stop her from interrupting. No, no. She could out-argue Harry Potter perfectly well on her own. "They're both single, they get along fantastically, they're both so fit it could make regular people cry—"

"I think that's a bit of an—"

"No! You look here, if you _really_ think about it, they're great together." Glancing at Hermione, who she could see was still furiously blushing over the compliment, Pansy let her hand drop back to her side. "Okay, maybe they have a great time and something comes of it. Maybe they realize they're better as friends and break it off. But with you acting this way, all you're going to do is make her feel bad, and possibly negatively effect whatever _could_ happen."

His shoulders slumped. He knew he was being unfair. Sirius had his hands full as it was with how unpleasant Remus was being about the matter. When he'd told Harry, however, he'd sounded so . . . happy. Hermione, too. Dammit, all, Pansy was right.

If there was a chance Hermione and Sirius could really be right for each other, who was he—or Remus, for that matter, what _had_ gotten into that man?—to stand in the way of that?

"Okay, okay." Smiling, Harry stood and crossed the room. "You're right." He kissed Pansy, and then dropped a second kiss on Hermione's cheek. "Hermione, I may feel awkward about it, but I hope you have a great time tonight. Just . . . not too great a time, yeah?"

Hermione snickered as she nodded. "Do I have to make you a promise on that? Because I've no idea if—"

Harry covered his ears, babbling incoherently as he made his way toward the door.

Both girls laughed as they watched him leave. In the silence that followed his exit, they almost seemed to forget what they'd been up to.

"Ohhh!" Pansy'd returned her attention to the matter at hand for only a moment when the most _wonderfully_ wicked notion occurred to her. "How about . . . are you ready?"

The other witch pivoted in a slow, measured movement, to face her. "For?"

Snickering, Pansy winked as she murmured, "Virginal white?"

Unable to help herself, Hermione burst out laughing. "Virginal? Is _that_ how you see me?"

"Oh, no. I know better, I've _met_ Viktor—and Cormac, for that matter. That one couldn't keep his hands off you." Pushing past Hermione, Pansy started shuffling through the variety of fabrics. "Doesn't mean you can't _look_ sweetly innocent. What color are your knickers?"

Embarrassingly enough, Hermione actually had to check. She was desperately nervous about her date with Sirius tonight—would there be another date? Would she act like a complete little idiot and accidentally dash any romantic notions he'd ever had toward here? Would she act like a complete idiot and end up having breakfast with him tomorrow?—that she'd been in a bit of a tizzy this morning. She'd not really paid attention as she'd gotten dressed, blindly grabbing anything and pulling it on.

"Red."

Pausing, the dark-haired young woman peered over her shoulder at Hermione. "Oh, I could not have planned this better."

Hermione smirked, a bit of her friend's natural air of mischief seeming to seep into her. "It is sort of sinful, isn't it?" she asked, amusement threading her tone as she crinkled the bridge of her nose.

"I'd say it's wildly appropriate for a man who looks like sin made flesh. Wait, even better . . . ." Struck with a moment of sin-inspired brilliance, Pansy turned back to the wardrobe. Dragging out one dress, in particular, she spun in place, displaying it to Hermione. "Red knickers and no bra?"

While Hermione did very much like the idea, she was concerned she was being too eager for a first date. "I'm not sure. Are we overdoing it, maybe?"

Tossing the dress at her, Pansy shook her head, but that slightly wicked grin of hers stayed in place. "No. Because, just as I told my simpleton of a boyfriend, maybe nothing comes of tonight. But, you and Sirius aren't just two people who bumped into each other on the street and decided to go on a date. You've known each other for years, so it's a first date, but it's also sort of not. You already know each other, you have a spark. What's to say it would be unexpected for things to get that far tonight?"

At that, Hermione felt a curl of panic unwind in her belly. She pressed her palm over her heart, darting her gaze about frantically. "Oh, God, you're right! I . . . I could very well end up shagging Sirius tonight, couldn't I?"

Pansy snickered at the other witch's fretting. "If you're lucky."

Hermione slumped where she stood. "It's not funny, Pansy!"

Clearing her throat and nodding, Pansy moved closer. She clamped her hands over Hermione's shoulders. "Yes, it is. You're taking this far too seriously. Could you end up letting him make you the most enviably happy witch on the planet for a few hours? Sure, but that's only one possibility. A possibility, Hermione, which means . . . ?"

Giving a nod of her own in response, Hermione replied as she forced her breathing to steady. "Just one of many potential outcomes of a situation."

"Right. For all we know you could end up back at your own flat at a decent hour, with no more action than a polite kiss goodnight."

The witches stared at each other for a moment before the utter impossibility of _that_ caused them both to burst out in laughter.

"Okay, that was a bit of a stretch," Pansy said, shrugging, "but the whole point is you never know. Just relax and go where the night takes you."

Hermione nodded, once more, feeling reassured . . . if still mildly terrified.

* * *

By the time dessert was served, Hermione and Sirius were both mildly tipsy. His face hurt from smiling so much, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd laughed so hard—she was certain they'd disrupted the dining experience of the restaurant's other patrons with their boisterous conversation.

As the dishes were placed before them, a decadent-looking mess of chocolate, fruit, and whipped toppings, Sirius reached across the table and nicked her plate.

Her jaw fell open as she watched him set her dish next to his. "Sirius Black! Just what do you think you're—"

"Shhh," he said in a low voice, his attention on the food while he speared a bit of fruit with his fork and dipped it into the chocolate and cream. Smirking, he lifted his gaze to hers as he reached across, holding it out to her.

Wide-eyed, she nibbled at her lip as she looked from him to the food, and back. The symbolism of their gestures—his in feeding her, and hers in how she let her eyes drift shut as she leaned forward to close her lips around the delectable offering—was not lost on either of them.

Hermione sat back, opening her eyes once more as she chewed. Sirius' attention had been on her face the entire time, and just now, the mildly dazed expression he wore and the look in his blue-grey eyes were in danger of stealing her breath.

She could swear she _felt_ the rise and fall of his chest as he inhaled and exhaled, painfully slow, before he set down the fork and said, "I think we'll be needing the check now, don't you?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded, not entirely certain where her voice had disappeared to.

She also was not entirely certain why she was even a hint surprised when they stepped from the restaurant moments later, decadent desserts packed to take along, and he slipped an arm around her. Pulling her against him, he Apparrated.

Landing them squarely at the front door of 12 Grimmauld Place, she lost all sense of . . . well, _anything_ , really, as Sirius covered her mouth with his own. He fumbled to unlock the door behind him, nearly falling backward over the threshold with the witch in his arms.

She broke the kiss, laughing against his mouth as they stumbled. After they'd righted themselves, he slammed shut the door between them and the rest of the world.

Pulling away enough to meet his gaze, she said in an airy whisper, "I suppose you could've waited until we were inside this house, Sirius."

He leaned close, his attention dropping to her mouth as he bit hard into his bottom lip. "Oh, I think I'm starting to lose all sense of judgment when I'm around you, little love."

Her heart skipped a beat at his words. He'd called her that before, but now it seemed to take on an entirely different, far more intimate context. She knew the sensation was reflected in her features, because his expression sobered as he stared at her.

"What?"

Smiling, she searched his face. "Call me that, again. The exact way you just said it."

Sirius brought his hands up to cup her jaw. He closed his eyes and brought his mouth to hers, speaking so his lips brushed against the delicate skin of hers as he repeated himself in the same gravelly pitch. "Little Love."

She dropped the bag as they started stumbling blindly through the foyer, once more. Hermione had no idea she could get lost so fast in anyone's embrace, but the feel of his hands moving over her through the fabric of her dress, of his tongue caressing her own as he moved her toward the staircase, had every coherent thought fleeing her head.

Until the sound of tearing parchment intruded on their happy, steamy little world.

Breaking the kiss—though they still held tight to one another, their bodies pressed against each other as the caught their breath—they both looked about.

She met his gaze, one eyebrow arched in question. They shared a perplexed expression before they, seeming to move as one, turned their attention to the floor.

There, under Sirius' right foot, was a missive. It must've been delivered while they were out at dinner.

But who the bloody hell sent an owl at this time of night?

Hermione seemed good-natured enough about it. After the last several minutes, she was much more at ease about the turn the evening had taken. This—them climbing all over each other as they tried to stumble up to Sirius' bedroom—had felt like a natural progression, after all.

She wasn't sure if it was the bit of alcohol in her system taking the edge off her inhibitions, or simply that she was feeling wicked enough to want to tease him in such a way, but she turned in his arms, putting her back to him. "Let me get that for you," she said in a low voice.

"Oh, Merlin, kill me now," he murmured with a breathy chuckle as she bent forward at the waist—not so inadvertently pressing her bum against him as she moved—to retrieve the envelope. Dear God, he didn't know if it was simply that it was her, that it had been far too long for him, or some combination of both, but he thought he could easily explode on the spot with her brushing so deliberately against him like this.

But then she straightened up and her entire frame slumped against his as she read the return address. Well, there was a mood-killer, right there.

Puzzled by her sudden change in demeanor, Sirius turned her in his arms to face him. He didn't like the frown gracing her lips one bit. "Hermione? What's—?"

She held up the missive. "It's from Remus."

His shoulders drooped as he relinquished his hold on her to take the envelope. "You'd think he knew exactly what he was interrupting."

With a mirthless laugh, Hermione sat down on the stairs. Propping her elbow against her knee, she dropped her chin into her palm and let out a miserable sigh. "Well? May as well open it."

Sirius furrowed his brow as he looked from her to the envelope and back. "Sorry."

Shaking her head, she shrugged as the sound of him breaking the wax seal to open the envelope seemed to fill the house. Holding back a second sigh, she leaned against the banister. Just when she'd resolved to put her ridiculous, unresolved feelings behind her . . . .

"Oh! Oh, but this is good news!"

Surprise colouring her features, she looked up. "What is it?"

"He said the Ministry just contacted him about an experimental magic that could stop his dependence on wolfsbane!"

Her eyes shot wide and she jumped to her feet. "They contacted him, already? I _told_ them it's not ready, yet!"

As she slapped her hands across her mouth, she met Sirius' curious gaze.

"Wait, you knew about this?"

She let her hands slip down as she fell back to sit on the stairs, once more. "I'm not supposed to say anything, yet. Not until it's all finalized. They made a contract with me to help devise a potion that would work better for full moons . . . . Even with a wolfsbane potion, Remus and those like him still barely hold on, and fighting his transformations makes him so sick. I thought . . . I thought he's Harry's friend, if I can help him . . . ? Anyway, that's what I was working on when you found me on New Year's. It's a potion that works in conjunction _with_ a charm I was designing that night. I told them I'd had a breakthrough and I thought I had something that could work, but it would need testing. I never expected they'd contact him, or anyone, about it until we were sure it was ready."

There was something in her tone, something that the more he thought on it, the more it crushed him a little. Folding the missive, he sat down beside her. "My God. You like Remus?"

Her eyes rolled so hard the lids fluttered with the force of it. "No." She shrugged and shook her head. "I used to. It was dreadful feeling something for someone who can't stand to be in the same room as you. Then that disaster happened with the mistletoe and I decided to put it behind me."

"Is that what this was tonight? On New Years?" He dropped his gaze to the toes of his shoes as he asked, "You putting your feelings for him behind you?"

"Dear Lord, no!" Shifting to face him, she reached out, clasping her hands around his. "When you first kissed me that night, yeah, I panicked a bit. I worried I was only letting that happen because I knew Remus would never . . . . But then I thought about it. Really, _really,_ thought about it. I like you, Sirius, because I like _you_. Not 'because' of anything or anyone else. Just you. If I'd felt any other way, we wouldn't be here now. I wouldn't do that to you. Or to myself."

He flicked up his gaze to meet hers, a shockingly, completely un-Sirius-like bashful expression on his face. "So . . . does this mean after we finish reading this letter, you'll still let me take you upstairs and do unspeakable things to you?" As the last word fell from his lips, he couldn't hold the innocent look any longer and a wicked grin curved his mouth.

She couldn't seem to stop herself from smiling as she nodded. "You had better!"

Clearing his throat, he opened the letter, once more. "Well, then, let's hurry with this. Okay, okay . . . blah, blah, blah. Oh . . . oh, dear . . . ."

"What?"

His shoulders slumped all over again as he lowered the letter to his lap and looked at her. "They contacted him to see if he would be the test subject."

"Don't tell me."

Wincing, Sirius nodded. "Blasted fool agreed to it."

She propped her fists on her hips and frowned. "Well, that's a lot of confidence in my abilities!"

"Little Love, don't take that personal. You know any number of things can go wrong with an _experimental_ potion. And, besides, you just said yourself, 'Don't tell—'"

"That's different," she said with a pout. " _I'm_ allowed to have doubts about my work. As my boyfriend, _you're_ supposed to have unwavering faith in me."

His brows drew upward and the corners of his mouth perked ever so slightly upward. "Your boyfriend?"

"Well, aren't you?"

He considered that a moment. Up until Remus' intrusion—he wasn't even present and somehow he'd found a way to interrupt them!—they'd been having a perfect evening. And he had every intention of making a repeat performance. As many times as she'd let him.

"Why, yes, I am!"

She nodded, smiling.

"Well, as your boyfriend, I should probably warn you about the letter's conclusion, then."

Oh, she did not like the sound of that, at _all_. "Which is?"

"Apparently, the Ministry must be your boyfriend, too, because they've got _such_ unwavering faith in your abilities that they've already arranged with him to test the potion on the upcoming full moon."

"All right, first of all, I'd never date the _entire_ Ministry. I mean, how would I figure time for them all?"

Sirius chuckled at that with a shake of his head. He was a little hurt that Remus hadn't mentioned any of this to him face-to-face. Maybe the werewolf didn't feel they were that close, anymore, if Sirius was dating a witch he couldn't stand.

That just made the rest of what Remus had written seem more painfully ironic, though.

"But that aside, I don't really see what you're—"

"When he takes the potion, he's to be under the supervision of the person who devised it. I don't think they explained that it's _you_."

"Of course they didn't, or he'd never have agreed," she said in a sour tone.

After a quiet moment, she leaned close, assuring herself she had his undivided attention. They both needed something to take their minds off this matter. "Now, weren't you supposed to take me upstairs and do unspeakable things to me?"

"Don't have to ask me twice." He shot to his feet and pulled her up beside him so fast that before she even knew what was happening, they were stumbling blindly up the staircase as he stole her thoughts and her breath with another series of delicious, hungry kisses.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Hermione awoke to the feel of Sirius stretching beside her under the covers, his bare body pressed along hers. She didn't open her eyes yet, aware he'd gotten up to do something and had then climbed back into the bed.

There was a brush of something plump, rounded, and fleshy against her bottom lip and she smiled, knowing what it was from the scent tickling her nose, yet feeling a mischievous need to toy with the man. "Is that a strawberry?" she asked, still with her eyes shut.

He snickered, his breath warm against the side of her throat and his chest rumbling at her back with the sound. "Well, if you think it's something else, then you've seriously overestimated my attributes."

A small giggle that she simply couldn't help escaped her in response. She always seemed to laugh so easily with him, which could be construed as odd when one considered that the pronunciation of his name was, phonetically, another word for 'stern.' Maybe that's why he was so . . . bloody goofy all the time, to steal away any chance for someone to make 'why so Sirius?' jokes.

She took a bite, savoring the mildly sharp sweetness—this had only _just_ ripened, so there was a faint edge of bitterness to it, still. "Mmm. Do you intend to spoil me this way every time we wake up together?"

With a grin, he reached across her, dipping the strawberry into a bowl of cream on the tray he'd set atop the night table and then lifting it back to her lips for his witch to take another bite. "Maybe . . . or maybe I just want you to wonder so you'll simply have to keep sleeping with me to see whether or not I do."

"Oh, yes," she said with a wistful sigh, turning in his arms to lie on her back. At last opening her eyes, she met his gaze and found her heart aching all over again for how pretty he was. Those perfect blue-grey eyes and that long, only slightly sleep-mussed jet hair. She didn't even want to think what her own wild mane looked like right now—but he seemed to like it, so she supposed it couldn't be too terrible. "Because getting to 'simply' sleep with you again isn't incentive on its own?"

That grin melted down into a smirk that full of all manner of prideful emotions. "Well, of course _I_ would like to think so, but I don't want to presume."

"Git," she said, the word rushing out in a tumble of air as she laughed.

Picking up another strawberry, he once more coated it with cream before offering it to her. "Perhaps, but I am _your_ git."

Hermione recognized precisely what he was doing. Oh, certainly he spoke with his usual calm, playful cadence, but what he was really doing was testing the waters—seeing if she still meant what she said last night, when she'd called him her boyfriend. "That you are," she responded, nipping at his curled palm before taking a bite of the new strawberry.

"I was wondering," he started, smiling broadly as he watched her eat, "if you might not help me with an experiment, being so inquisitive as you are."

"Oh, feeding me sweet things while naked in bed _and_ speaking of scientific endeavors? My, you really _do_ know the way to my heart."

"Happy to hear it." He gave her a wink. "So, want to?"

She threw her hands over her face, uttering a whimpering sound. "Why do I feel like I might regret that I want to say yes?"

"Well . . . ." Sirius winced and sucked his teeth. "There is a _small_ chance you might die, of course."

Her brows shot up into her hairline as she propped herself up on her elbows. "I might die? Actually, that panicked me for a moment, there, but I feel like you're not likely to actually _let_ me die, so sure. I'm on board. Tell me what adventurous thing you've got in mind?"

Biting his lip, he leaned over her, his mouth capturing hers in a kiss. After a few fluttering heartbeats of caressing her tongue with his own, he pulled back, humming lightly as he savored the taste of vanilla and strawberry he'd stolen from her.

"That better not have been it, because as amazing as you are at snogging, I hardly think I nearly died just now."

"Of course that wasn't it." Sitting up, he picked another piece of fruit from the tray, dipping it, but holding it in the air above her mouth instead of feeding it to her. With his free hand, he urged her to lay back down.

A warm little jolt arced through her as he peeled back the sheet covering her—as though the mildly cooler air against her skin made no difference with him so close. He turned his head, looking over her naked form quite deliberately before returning his gaze to hers. Starting at her throat, he dragged the tips of his fingers down along her body.

"I was wondering," he said, his voice was dropped low, pitched to a gravelly whisper, "if someone can eat while in the throes of an orgasm."

Her breath caught in her throat as his fingers trailed over the dips of her hipbones, in turn. "Ah, I see, so . . . ." She swallowed hard and reminded herself to inhale. "The 'small chance I might die' would be whether or not I choke on a bit of fruit while coming?"

Sirius once more bit into his lower lip as his hand sank between her thighs. "Sex and food are the two most glorious things in all of existence. I think it would be absolutely fantastic if we could partake of both at the same time, don't you?"

In spite of herself—this was just so silly, wasn't it? She could die all because Sirius Black wanted to appease more than one appetite at a time—she found that she was craning her neck, stretching to bring her mouth closer to the creamed fruit he held just out of her reach. As she closed her lips around it, she felt the rough brush of his fingertips stroking her clit.

She halted, clamping her lips together as he worked her in quick circular motions. Only the damp touch of the strawberry reminded her of his intention. Hermione wasn't even certain when, exactly, but her eyes had drifted closed.

Opening them, she locked her gaze with his. Feeling strangely, thrillingly obscene, she obediently took another mouthful, pausing mid-bite to suckle at the fruit. There was something so divine in hearing the way his breath shortened for a moment as he watched her.

He understood precisely how to touch her—worse, he _knew_ that he understood precisely how to touch her, making it faintly obnoxious that he could coax her into writhing beneath his ministrations so fast. She didn't even care, though. The sweet tingling pressure teasing along her limbs, the feel of her body clenching tight, pleading for him to fill her, was too nearly too much too soon.

Sirius huffed out a harsh breath as her fingers slipped around his cock. He had been so distracted with what he was doing for her, he'd not even noticed when she'd snuck her hand into his lap. He couldn't help a grin; she was trying, but it was clear from her uneven movements that she was far too absorbed in his stroking. Far be it from him, however, to second guess a lady's decision.

He moved around her and she found herself being fed another bit of fruit. Withdrawing the offering for a few seconds, she could feel him pull her legs around his hips, the hand between her thighs never once faltering. Dammit with her eyes closing of their own volition, again! But between him and the food, she couldn't help herself—sensory overload of the most wonderful sort. Closing her eyes let her focus on the sensations flowing through her.

Tilting his hand to rub over her clit with the pad of his thumb instead, he thrust his pelvis. Her entire body trembled with his entry and she let out pleading sound.

"Ah, ah," he murmured as she fell into rhythm against his movements. "We're not done with this."

She was overwhelmed. The succulent morsels he was feeding her, the hard, deep motions of him inside her . . . . Hermione held her breath, keeping the fruit against her tongue but cutting it off from her airway as she threw back her head, her muscles tensed and gripping around him as she came.

He couldn't help that he was watching her again while the orgasm rocked through her. The expression on her face might've been pleasure or pain, perhaps some mingling of both and he pressed against her, darting his tongue between her lips to nick that last bite from her. Freed of it, she drew in a gasp, moaning as the sweet pressure broke over her and began to ebb.

As she shuddered and started rocking beneath him once more, he rolled them over, letting her guide him into release of his own. He muttered in name in a gruff, halting sound as he spent himself.

When they stilled against each other, he found her staring down at him, concerned.

Her evident worry immediately set off his own. Catching his breath, he reached up, cupping her jaw with his hands. "What's wrong?"

"Sounded for a moment there like _you_ were choking!"

A smirk curved Sirius' lips. "Okay, perhaps I should've clarified that there was a small chance that _one_ of us might die."

She lowered carefully against him, taking a turn at feeding him from the tray of strawberries and cream. "Maybe next time we can try a sexual experiment where neither of us risks death?"

Her wizard made a thoughtful sound as he chewed and swallowed before pulling her close for a kiss. "We can try, but they might not be as much fun."

* * *

" _Do you have to go?"_ Sirius' voice rang in her head pleasantly, still, as she made her way through the tightly-packed shelves of Flourish and Blotts.

" _Oh, believe me, it's not as though I want to. I'd much rather stay here all day and let you spoil me . . ._ again _. But we've been doing nothing but shagging and eating—"_

" _You say that like it's a bad thing,"_ he'd said in an admonishing tone. Even now the exchange made her smile.

" _It's a_ _lovely_ _thing, but we've been doing nothing_ but _for almost a week and I do have a job to do. We can't all be filthy rich pure-blood heirs who don't have work for a living, you know."_ She'd been putting this off, but she knew she shouldn't. Granted, there wasn't much more to do for her 'experimental magic'—oh, that was a pleasant surprise! Now, thanks to Sirius' shenanigans, simply thinking of the word 'experiment' sent a heady little rush through her—but to test magic, and the full moon wouldn't wait for Sirius to decide he wasn't in the mood.

Still, though, she'd felt it her duty to at least do a bit more reference work before the Ministry gave the potion-and-charm remedy to Remus. They might not be friends, they might not be . . . _anything_ to one another, at all, but she still didn't want anything to happen to him. Especially not because of her.

Already she had a few of the texts she'd deemed most worthwhile for her extra research in her arms when she spied a book she'd been looking for since before she'd even started this particular challenge. "There you are," she said in a hissed whisper, setting down her armload and shaking her head at the volume, as though it could hear her. They'd ordered it at her request months ago, but one mishap after another led her to believe it was simply never going to arrive, and so she'd given up on waiting. She couldn't blame them for shelving it after too long in hopes someone else might buy it—they had a business to run, after all.

Drawing her wand from within her sleeve, she pointed and flicked, coaxing the book down from the high shelf. Easing it neatly atop the small stack, she exhaled a sigh as she looked down at her reference material. She couldn't take her work back to Grimmauld Place, or she'd never get anything done. Oh, sure, Sirius would try to help, but then they'd just end up shagging on the sofa. Or the armchair. Or wherever he found her innocently sitting in the house.

Once more unable to stop herself from smiling at the thought of him, she scooped her bundle into her arms and started toward the staircase.

* * *

All rung up and happy with her purchases, she even caught herself humming a little under her breath. She'd decided she would grab a quick lunch at The Leaky Cauldron and do her studying there as she ate. The day was seeming _perfect_.

Which, in retrospect she considered, was why everything _had_ to come tumbling down around her ears.

Since she was going to take her books right back out once she reached her destination, she hadn't seen much point in her usual shrink-and-stow method of carrying items for travel. Instead, she hefted up the books in her arms and turned to head for the door.

No sooner had she taken a step out into the crisp, open winter air, then has someone barreled right into her. Landing none too delicately on her bum, she winced as she looked toward her toppled texts. Fortunately, it hadn't snowed or rained recently, so the pavement was dry.

The thought of her books being ruined wasn't what made her cringe and hold in an unhappy groan. It was that as she searched for the human-shaped torpedo that had knocked her down, she found an _un_ fortunately familiar tall and lanky frame hurrying to pick up her fallen books.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his hurried words ringing with sincerity. She could only guess he'd not seen exactly who he'd plowed over, just yet.

She waited for him to turn and see her. The hand he'd reflexively extended toward her hovered in the air as his gaze landed on her. Hermione could tell by the sudden blend of shock and . . . and what else, she honestly didn't know, that crossed his face that he considered pulling his hand back as soon as he realized it was her.

Setting her jaw, she decided to be mature about this. After all, she'd not ever done anything to Remus Lupin, so why he should be so angry with her all the time was beyond her, and thus she decided none of her concern.

With some reluctance, she placed her hand in his and let her help her to her feet. "I'm fine, Remus," she said as she dusted off her bum with her free hand.

"I . . . sorry. I just wasn't paying attention." He relinquished his hold on her hand the moment he was sure she wasn't actually hurt—as though he couldn't bare to touch her, but still didn't want to be responsible for injuring her.

"It's fine, really." Good Lord, this was awkward. He wouldn't look at her, she wouldn't look at him. And she hadn't the foggiest idea of why things were like this between them. "My—my books, please?"

Remus looked from her outstretched hands to the bundle of books he held under one arm. "Oh, right. Sorry." As he rearranged them to hand them over, he couldn't stop himself from noting the titles. Werewolf research? Specifically the repelling of lunar energy and the medicinal properties of other plants that mimicked the effect of wolfsbane. Books for creating _new_ potions. Charms to protect from moonlight.

He looked from the stack of books to her. " _You're_ the one the Ministry hired to circumvent the lycanthropic dependence on wolfsbane?" Her chestnut eyes were huge as she stared up at him, that wild golden-brown hair held back by simple little braids and her fair cheeks were dotted pink from the chilly air. The look on her face, nearly as though she expected him to yell at her, was like a crushing weight pressing down on his chest.

Hermione was a little taken aback that he didn't sound angry, he sounded . . . startled. "Yes."

Swallowing hard, he shook his head. He didn't even appear to realize he still hadn't given her back her books yet. "Why didn't anyone tell me?"

She knew that by 'anyone,' he specifically meant Harry or Sirius. The witch shrugged, making another gesture for him to hand over her research materials. "I wasn't allowed to tell anyone. Harry didn't know at all, and Sirius didn't know until he received your letter." Though she felt bad about pointing out the pettiness, she couldn't help feeling a little petty herself as she tacked on, "He and I both thought if you knew I was the one behind the, well, let's call it the Wolfsbane Solution, for lack of a simpler description, then you would refuse to take it even if someone else volunteered and it turned out to work."

Remus fought to not let a shocked breath rattle out of him. He'd been so terrible to her, and so obvious about wanting to be terrible to her, that she honestly thought he'd give up a chance to be free of the moon's pull just because it was tied to her? Yet, she hadn't let his attitude deter her from doing something that could help him and those like him?

He had underestimated her. That only made him feel lower. He was angry with her for being with Sirius, but then he had no right to that. He was angry at Sirius for his interest in her, yet he had no right to that either. Neither of them had done a thing to hurt _him_.

His own inability to deal with his feelings stoked his anger anew, this time at himself. But he knew if he didn't get away from her—right bloody now—he'd snap at the witch as though she were at fault.

"Here. Sorry," he said, dropping her books into her waiting arms and pivoting on his heel.

Hermione chewed at her lower lip in thought as she watched him go. He seemed in just as much of a hurry now as he'd been when he'd barreled into her.

She'd not taken this job with the Ministry for him, but with the way he'd rushed to get away from her just now, she wasn't sure he understood that. Her shoulders slumped as she turned and started for The Leaky Cauldron. For all she knew, he might think this was an attempt to win him over. Oh, she couldn't let him believe that! There were so many werewolves in the world, scared and mistreated due to their affliction, who could benefit from this Solution of hers.

Maybe she should insist Sirius talk to him, sort this ridiculous misunderstanding between them—whatever it was about, whatever had caused it—before things _really_ got out of hand.

She ignored that even now seeing him react so negatively to her presence sent a sharp, icy stab through her heart.


End file.
